


Now You Are Burning In Me

by ReadySalted1



Category: The Last Kingdom (TV), The Warrior Chronicles | The Saxon Stories - Bernard Cornwell
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Book and TV blend, F/M, Passion, Romance, book rewrite, intimate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:48:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24063118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReadySalted1/pseuds/ReadySalted1
Summary: “I saw,“ she breathed, ”and I was stricken.”A rewrite of Stiorra and Sigtryggr falling in love at the end of The Empty Throne from each of their perspectives.
Relationships: Sigtryggr Ivarsson/Stiorra
Comments: 32
Kudos: 107





	1. Stiorra

**Author's Note:**

> I loved the storyline for Stiorra and Sigtryggr in Season 4 but their brief romance in The Empty Throne is next level. I enjoyed reimagining their love story from their perspectives, pulling directly from what Uhtred tells us in the book. This follows what happens in the The Empty Throne with some changes to simplify the storytelling.
> 
> This is a 4 chapter whirlwind -- Chapters 1 and 4 have some direct quotes taken from Bernard Cornwall's book. I will post two chapters this week and the final two next week. Let me know what you think in the comments below.
> 
> If you enjoy this story, check out my other Last Kingdom chapter series "Say My Name And I Shall Be Yours" -- there will be a new posting there soon!

My mother told me I would know the man I loved when he came for me. She said it was a blessing and a curse; that the women in our family were ruled by destiny and we would know when it took us. 

I was still a girl when she died. I didn’t understand all of her teachings at the time but her wisdom was always swimming in my mind as I grew into a woman.

My mother, Gisela, was a pagan and a Dane and her beliefs and blood live in me still. My father said when he first saw her he was stricken - that there was no question she was who he would be with. I know he misses her still; I have watched him love women that were not her for most of my life and none of them have changed him like she did. 

My mother abandoned the path laid out for her by her brother in order to be with my father and I always wondered how she leapt like that - how she ran away from everything she had known. I know it was dangerous for my parents to defy the powerful men who tried to keep them apart but I envy the life they had together. It is all I have ever wanted; adventure, danger, passion — there are days I crave the unknown as if I am parched of thirst and it is a deep spring. 

I have had a good life so far — one filled with learning and sword practice and laughter. But it has felt a half-life at times - a wanderer’s spirit runs within me and it has taken strength to not disobey the path my father now leads me on. Sometimes I offer up my restlessness to the gods, beg them to send me away from the duties I have been given, but they have not answered me yet.

There has been talk of marriage - Lady Aethelflaed wishes for me to marry a Saxon and my father, Uhtred Ragnarson, said she wants to tie him and our family to Wessex and Mercia. My father has known it is time for me to marry and somewhere in the pit of my gut I can’t help but wonder if it will be the adventure I have been hoping for. Most nights I dream of a black night sky suddenly pinpricked with a light on the horizon and it is hard to say if it is fantasy or destiny but I think it is the future; a fire burning in the distance, calling for me to join it. 

Today felt like a taste of the adventure I’ve been craving. Today, my father kept me close to him as battle waged around us and I was careful to pay attention, to learn from him and be on my guard. I have felt ready for death since my mother died; today I was prepared to see her in the next life if the battle did not go our way. 

But I did not know today of all days would change my destiny.

“Stiorra, stay close,” Uhtred shouted at me as Finan flanked us on the steps to the Winchester palace. This was a place of Kings and it was our duty to reclaim and defend it for King Edward and the Lady Aethelflaed. We were watching the battle unfold before us, men slaughtered and weapons singing, and it seemed promising that our forces were holding against the Danes. Father had anticipated their every move and I revelled in the ability to watch his plan in action, though I gripped the handle of my seax tightly. We were outnumbered but the tide was turning in our favour: if I had learned anything in my life it was that Uhtred Ragnarson did not fail. 

Later, at the feast, my father would tell me that when he first saw him, he thought Sigtryggr looked like a god of war when he ran up those steps towards us. His reputation had not done him justice; he was even more fearsome than my father had thought. 

But I heard Sigtryggr’s voice before I saw his face and it turned my stomach like an oar churning through a rough sea. 

“Who are you?” Sigtryggr shouted from a distance, the question slicing through the commotion and clanging of swords.

My father tensed Serpent Breath. “I am Uhtred of Bebbanburg!”

And the voice whooped in glee - a youthful, defiant yell - as he ran up those stairs like lightning, his sword at the ready. 

Sigtryggr was unlike any man I had ever seen. 

He was young - too young to be the warrior with his reputation - his eyes were bright with battle and excitement. He was smiling and even as I questioned what type of man smiles when he is about to kill someone, I knew he was impossibly handsome and his fearlessness made it more so. 

I do not know which of the gods brought him to me but I knew in that moment he was the man I was waiting for. 

I was rooted to the steps and the world raged around me.

My father leaned forward with Serpent Breath, metal clashing against metal, and I cried out before I covered my mouth, suddenly aware the outburst was my own voice. Who was I shouting for? For my father’s life? Or the warrior he was about to drive his sword through? My body had involuntarily jumped at the idea of either of them dying. 

In that instant, Sigtryggr turned to look at me and time slowed down. He stared at me, surprise or recognition flashing in his bright eyes, and the world faded away for a brief moment. 

And then it sped up; swords colliding and bodies flailing as Sigtryggr lost his advantage and footing on the steps. Uhtred attacked and the Dane warrior pulled away, his lean body nimble, but not quickly enough - Serpent Breath danced across his face, slashing his skin from forehead to cheekbone, scraping his left eye. 

Sigtryggr yelled before jumping from the steps, narrowly avoiding the wrath of my father, his guards following him before he retreated through the thinning crowds, out the gate, towards his troops of men. 

He turned before he disappeared in the scurry of dust and men and smiled back at me - at us - holding his arms out to shout with a grin, “I am Odin! I can see twice as much now!” 

“Is he mad?” I asked Uhtred when the air returned to my lungs.

“Aye,” Finan nodded, cleaning his sword of blood. “Mad with war.” 

My father laughed at the Irishman’s words. “I must have looked like that when I fought with Ubba; he is like a bolt of lightning.”

Uhtred breathed heavily, taking in the scattering Danes and catching his breath. A cry went up at the gate; Sigtryggr’s men had held up a branch of peace. My father smiled before tugging at my sleeve. “Come. We will negotiate.” 

Finan and I followed Uhtred toward the gates, as his men gathered themselves after the fight. I had somehow missed the commotion in my focus on Sigtryggr and it appeared the Danes had retreated even though their numbers were still greater. We had the town and had trapped many of our enemy inside the walls. My brother joined our procession and Finan nabbed Aethelstan to walk with us as our men assembled near the entrance.

“Sigtryggr! Come speak with us!” My father called out across the dusty grounds when we were outside the city walls. We stood there with the falling sun in our faces, squinting at the crowd of warriors. “You may bring two men with you!”

The tall lean warrior approached but with only one of his men flanking him, a curious grin etched across his face. 

“Lord Uhtred! You have ruined my good looks,” Sigtryggr said, resting his hands upon his sword hilt. There was a linen cloth wrapped around his face, protecting the scarred eye. I stared at him as he smiled at my father. He was wrong. The wound did not ruin his good looks; it only made him appear more fearsome. 

“Do not speak with me. I only negotiate with men. I have brought you a woman and a child so you may speak to your equals,” my father said sternly but I could hear the mocking in his tone. I almost smiled — Uhtred of Bebbanburg once again goading his enemies to react brashly.

Sigtryggr laughed and it caught me off guard; could no insult touch him? He turned to look at me and my breath caught in my throat.

“Then I shall speak to my equals,” he said directly to me. “I am Sigtryggr Ivarson. What is your name, Lady?” 

I hesitated, glancing at my father before answering. “Stiorra Uhtredsdottir.” 

He gave a half bow. “And I took you to be a goddess.” 

My cheeks flamed in annoyance; I did not want to be wooed. Finan and Uhtred stood behind me smirking with their arms crossed but I would not be belittled. I would handle the negotiations and he would not get under my skin. 

“You wanted to speak. So speak,” I said coldly, my fingers curled in my palms.

“Well, Lady,” his face was bright despite the defeat he’d just endured. “I confess matters have not gone as I wished. My father sent me to become a king and instead I meet your father — I was told he was weak but it seems he is still cunning.”

I stared at him evenly. “My father still has two eyes.” 

“But they are not as beautiful as yours, my lady.” His tongue was quick. 

“Are you here to waste our time or did you wish to surrender?” I was cold, I had to be. It was taking everything within me to not strike him across the face. The thought flipped my stomach. To reach out and touch him.

“For you, I would surrender all I have. But my men?” He turned, gesturing behind him. “We outnumber you.”

I knew Sigtryggr was not like other Danes; Uhtred and Finan had discussed him at length as we walked the ramparts of the city, analysing his strategy. And perhaps that is what made him different than the leaders who came before him — he had a strategy. And as my father pointed out, he seemed to value the lives of his own men over senseless slaughter. I wondered about that; what did that mean about him and his values? What did he want?

“What you want,” I started slowly and Sigtryggr’s face lit up, curious of what I might understand of him, “is the promise that you may return to your ships unharmed.” 

He grinned, satisfied with my appraisal. “Excellent idea, Lady.” 

“Then we will require half of your weapons and take hostages, with the promise that you will leave in two mornings time.”

Sigtryggr’s face grew slowly serious, contemplating my demand. “Hostages?”

“Yes,” I glanced at Uhtred and he nodded. He had said as much as we walked out to meet Sigtryggr. “You will leave twelve of your men here and the rest may ready your camp and ships to leave. They will have one day.”

The young Dane warrior examined me curiously before glancing behind at Uhtred and Finan. “And how do I know these men will be treated fairly?”

I sighed, anxious to end these negotiations, to escape the way my stomach clenched when he looked at me. “They will be treated with respect… unless of course you do not leave and then they will be killed.”

“They will be fed?”

“Yes, they will be fed.” 

“There will be a feast?”

“They will be fed,” I replied, clenching my teeth. 

He shook his head. “I cannot agree to twelve hostages; it is too many. I can only give you one hostage.” 

I let out a short laugh, shaking my head in anger at being mocked. I had failed at these negotiations before they’d even begun. “You are ridiculous.” 

“Myself. I offer you myself.”

My breath caught in my throat and I glanced at the shocked look on Uhtred’s face, knowing it mirrored my own. I swallowed, my heart suddenly pounding in my chest. Sigtryggr removed his sword and handed it to his companion, a tall burly man, speaking to him quietly and quickly before turning back to us, smiling. 

My father nodded before accepting Sigtryggr’s offer and Uhtred led us back to the gates of Winchester, Finan falling in step with him to discuss what their next plans were. My brother chatted with Prince Aethelstan, careful to avoid dead bodies and patches of arrows, discussing the Danes and the success of our battle. 

Sigtryggr walked in silence next to me, a small smile on his face, as if he were happy about his new found imprisonment. He was a mystery — a man full of contradictions — I did not understand him and it frustrated me. He was scarred and yet handsome; he was a skilled warrior and yet capable of defeat; he was a strategist yet feared; he was a leader but willing to offer himself as hostage. He walked as if he were a free man, confident and comfortable, despite being a prisoner of his own choice and I wondered if it was even possible to imprison him. He was wild and fearsome and unlike anyone I had ever met.

I didn’t realise I’d been staring at him until he was looking back at me, the knowing smile still engaging his lips. He stayed silent and I did not know what to say. No one was paying attention to us as we passed through the gate, our bodies suddenly closer as we walked through the warriors securing the fortress, my father shouting instructions. No one was watching as Sigtryggr grinned at me in a way that was already curiously familiar. No one noticed as Sigtryggr quietly brushed the back of his hand against mine, my fingers already stretched out to entwine with his.


	2. Sigtryggr

She did lie to me — there was a feast in Winchester that night and it was glorious.

My father said to never trust a woman; he said they will always lie, but my father has also never loved anything or anyone in his life. He’s spent years ruling with violence and cruelty and I have spent as many years waiting for him to die. Oh I learned from him — I soaked up everything I could — but the most important lesson I learned was that I could become powerful and fearsome so he could not control me. So I sought my reputation in new lands and killed Christians and burned villages. I have led men and commanded armies and run towards death with open arms.

I just did not know death would be as stunning as Stiorra.

As darkness fell on Winchester, the palace hall was full of soldiers and warriors from the Saxon and Mercian army Uhtred had led against my men. Torches were lit, tables filled with food and ale flowed freely. Men shouted and joked, pounded on tables and occasionally celebrated with a stolen kiss from a tavern wench.

I enjoyed Uhtred and his men — life is too short to not enjoy the flavours and conversation and laughter of the world. We were seated at a table at the top of the hall on a raised dais, a fire pit lit to warm the hall and the light danced, casting long shadows across the tapestries on the walls.

Finan was showing the silver armband I gifted him to the Dane they called Sihtric and I couldn’t help but grin as the Irishman recounted his surprise at my gesture.

“You fought well,” I interrupted, leaning towards them across the table from me, my cup in hand. “I honour those who best me.”

Sihtric shook his head with feigned disbelief. “And where is my reward for besting you, Lord?”

“I’m sure you don’t need me to find you a woman,” I replied, sipping my ale.

“Oh there you are mistaken Lord!” Finan cried out. “The man left his wife back in Coccham and hasn’t seen her in months! I don’t think he would even recognise her if he saw her.”

I laughed along with the Irishman as Sihtric rolled his eyes. “Do you have a wife, Sigtryggr?”

I shook my head no with a grin. I thought I saw Stiorra shift in her seat next to me.

Sihtric rubbed a hand down his face. “Then you are lucky you do not know the pain of longing for someone only to have them rebuke you when you finally return because you have been gone too long!”

We laughed easily and I leaned back in my chair as Finan filled his friend’s glass. The pair returned to their celebrations as the world of the feasting hall was bright with noise around our table.

I took a measured sip from my cup before I dared to look at her.

Stiorra was talking to her brother who sat next to the Irishman across from her. She was fidgeting with a ring on her finger as she disagreed with young Uhtred, who was shaking his head at her as they argued about religion.

“How is it,” I asked, shifting towards the two of them, “that one of Lord Uhtred’s children is a Pagan and the other a Christian?”

“King Alfred had us raised in the church and he offered us a new path, a righteous path,” young Uhtred replied proudly.

I reached across Stiorra to grab a bowl of dried fruit and she flinched away from me.

“King Alfred kidnapped us when we were children and forced us to recite boring passages from scripture for hours a day. One of us forgets where we came from and who are parents are,” Stiorra said, her voice thick with annoyance. She spoke her mind fiercely and I loved it.

“Who is your mother?” I asked, eager to hear her speak more.

She glanced at me suspiciously, her jaw tight. “Gisela. Sister to Guthred of Northumbria.”

I was surprised. “So your mother was a Pagan and a Dane?”

“Both of which my brother has apparently forgotten,” Stiorra said, staring daggers at him. “Father raised us to believe in the true gods —“

“There is only one true god!” Young Uhtred interrupted. They were both headstrong in the same way about their beliefs and I was curious how two people could live in such opposition and still care for each other. I glanced at Uhtred Ragnarson, wondering if this simultaneous defiance and acceptance stemmed from him.

“You are clearly not drunk enough,” Finan cut in, shoving a cup into the boy’s hands. “Stop arguing and drink up!”

Stiorra bristled as her brother reluctantly sipped from the ale and returned his eyes to his food. Her muscles tensed as her hands gripped the arms of her chair. She was so close I could have touched her.

“How do you tolerate them?” I asked her quietly.

Uhtred’s daughter looked at me sharply. “Who?”

“The Christians. The Saxons.” I gestured vaguely.

She looked confused. “I am half Saxon.”

“But you act like a Dane.”

“Most people living here are not just one thing - they are complicated and have ancestors who come from different places, different religions.” She glanced around, her face filled with what I could only describe as passion.

“You give your opinion freely,” I observed.

She shrugged. “I cannot be whole if I am only half of myself; I love both of my parents and what they’ve given me.”

“I wonder what that is like,” I said softly.

“What?” She asked confused.

“To love your parents,” I shrugged.

Stiorra looked lost in thought. She was taller than most women and, by the way she moved, knew her way around swords. Her face was fascinating - her brow furrowed, her long dark hair half tied back off her shoulders - she was deep in contemplation and it showed all over her expression.

“What are you staring at?” She demanded, her frustration breaking the pause in conversation, annoyance bristling.

“I am looking at you, Lady,” I replied with a quick smile.

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be absurd.”

“If you could see yourself, you would know I am not being absurd. Absurd is believing in a god who comes back from the dead,” I said, grabbing my cup for a swig of ale.

Her mouth twitched as if she was biting her lip but she didn’t smile.

Uhtred was chuckling at something the monk boy seated next to him said and I couldn’t help but like the Lord of Bebbanburg. He was somehow even more formidable than his reputation that preceded him — I could see why his men were fiercely loyal to him. He inspired confidence even if I thought his commitment to the Saxons and their Christian god was foolish. He had a moral compass I’d not yet seen in another warrior — he understood justice and wanted it, even at the cost of his own life.

“How did the healer find your eye, Lord Sigtryggr?” The Dane Slyer asked, interrupting my thoughts and catching my gaze.

“Slashed by a sword, Lord Uhtred,” I replied, “but she said I would live.”

“Too bad,” he said with a straight face before he broke into a smile and I laughed.

As the night wore on, warriors drifted out of the hall to drink in the tavern or to find a vacant place to sleep. I knew my own men outside the town walls would be readying our camp to head back to our ships at first light; they would need rest for the sea journey ahead. The fire was burning out in the hall and conversations were growing quieter.

I glanced down at my arms, surprised by the dirt and dried blood coating me. Echoes of the battle were weary in my bones and in the pulsing behind my eye and I suddenly longed for clean water to wash myself.

“Lord Uhtred,” I said, pushing my chair back. “Thank you for this feast. I look forward to speaking more with you tomorrow.”

The Dane Slayer nodded before ordering one of his men to walk me to my room down the maze of palace halls. There were guards on watch stationed around the town and the outside of the palace but they did not place a man outside my door.

I was grateful for the trust because I had no desire to leave.

I removed my belt and outer armour, letting them fall to the floor as I filled a small basin from a water pitcher. I fed the fire in the hearth and cleaned my arms before splashing my face to scrub the blood from my skin. Properly washing in a river would have been preferable but still it felt good.

I sat down on the edge of my bed to remove my boots and breathed deeply for what felt like the first time in hours. Stillness. It is a strange feeling after battle. Exhaustion gnawed at me as I watched the flames bite at one another.

I did not want to sleep. I could think of only one thing I wanted.

I stood up and walked to the door, wrenching it open and turning with haste out into the corridor towards the great hall.

But I stopped short.

Stiorra was already standing there, staring at me, her chest rising and falling. Had she just run here? Or had she been here since I left the table?

Did she know I would come for her?

I didn’t ask. It didn’t matter.

I walked to her, never breaking eye contact, until our bodies were almost touching. She stared up at me, beautiful and defiant, her mouth set in a straight line. Her eyes flashed in the torch light of the hallway and I revelled in the imperfections of her face up close, the specks and scars, the freckle on her upper lip. I reached up to brush a lock of hair behind her ear and she turned her cheek into my palm and the warmth spread up my arm.

I glanced down the hallway. No one was here. No one was watching.

I slipped my hand into hers and pulled her back down the corridor and into my room. I shut the door behind me and she was already fumbling with her belt and armour. I grasped her hand and pulled her towards me, taking over the actions and slowly undressing her from the battle that had brought us together. Her eyes looked through me and I was suddenly afraid she could hear the heartbeat banging in my ears. The fire in the hearth sparked, our bodies long shadows dancing up the walls of the small room; we were larger than life, our movements echoing in time.

My fingers wrapped around the smooth handle of her knife as I discarded her belt and held the weapon between us, the blade shimmering in the light as our breath mingled. I offered it to her and she took it slowly, bringing the sharp point to rest against my chest, her eyes flashing to mine before letting it clatter to the floor.

Stiorra watched me as I unbuckled the pieces of her worn leather armour and dropped them to the ground but she never spoke. Words seemed like a foreign thing; something from a past life we once did but was no longer necessary. Tonight was a new language and she met my mouth with a force; my hands wound around her jaw, her waist, her arms - the strength of her - I wanted to feel the way she fought and moved, I wanted to explore every part of her. She was fearsome and soft and I needed her.

Our bare feet danced across the floor towards the bed as she pulled my tunic up over my head. Stiorra hesitated at my half nakedness and her fingers ran over my scars and skin as if she were reading a map. She held the Thor’s hammer hanging around my neck and smiled before I cupped her jaw in my hands and pulled her mouth back to mine; I needed her as if I were a man on fire and she were the only water left. I undid the knot at the waist of her dress, unwrapping the fabric until it fell, pooling at her ankles, and I was hungry for the heat of her skin. Her fingers dug into my arms as I lifted her and she wrapped her legs around my waist, each of us gasping for something more than air as I leaned her back onto my bed.

In truth, my father had sent me to this new land to fulfil my destiny, to conquer as he had conquered lands, to become a great warrior. I thought I had been on the path destined for me but I did not know the truth until the gods took my eye and gave me sight. I did not see the half life I was living until the part of me that was missing was standing in front of me.


	3. Stiorra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here are the final two chapters of Now You Are Burning In Me! Hope you enjoy :)

The light slipped in through the window like a bird song; bright and brilliant and familiar. This was a new day and I was not the same woman I had been the day before. The sun stretched across the floor as if pointing to the piles of discarded clothing and delighting in the new world I had discovered. Something stirred deep inside of me and I thanked the gods for the years they had listened to my incessant longing. I had been patient and they had been kind.

I shifted in the furs, my legs entangled in warmth, and leaned up on my elbow to look down at the man sleeping next to me.

I almost laughed at how peaceful Sigtryggr looked; he was somehow more handsome, more youthful in his sleep, his arm curled up under his head, the flex of his muscles reminding me of his strength. He was beautiful — his strong jaw and dark features. Even the long new scar across his face only made his cheekbones sharper.

“What are you looking at?” He whispered, sleep heavy in his voice, his good eye still shut.

I hesitated. This was the first we had spoken since the feast in the starkness of daylight while truly alone. Last night, in the darkness, there had been whispers, soft words begging for more. And there had been questions — half sleep conversations trying to unearth one another but we had been under the cover of night, the vulnerability of our bodies allowing us to peel each other back. Would it still feel the same in the brightness of morning? Something had changed between us and yet somehow it had always felt like this, from the very moment I had first seen him.

“I am looking at you, Lord,” I said softly, brushing back a matted dreadlock from his wild hair.

The slow grin I had begun to long for crept across his face as he reached up and pulled me into him. I wrapped my arms around his body, my fingers winding up the bare skin of his back, and I breathed him in as his knee tucked between my legs. He smelled like earth and sweat and ale — I kissed his shoulder, running my mouth along his clavicle, and he sighed.

Sigtryggr shifted; his fingers pulsing at my waist, tracing circles and I knew this was what I wanted. This was the pinprick of light in my dreams, the fire I ran towards, and I did not care if I burned myself when I reached it: it was the beginning.

“Will anyone be looking for you?” He asked, tracing the edges of my ribs.

I frowned. “My maid, Hella. She will be in my chamber soon.”

I did not want to move but I needed to return to my room — no one could know. Not yet. I needed a plan, a way to walk the long darkness to the light in the distance. My mind was racing as I looked up at Sigtryggr. Did he want what I wanted?

I dug my fingers into his skin, not wanting to give him up and he shifted to look at me, moving my hair so my neck was exposed. He traced my edges, studying me. Sigtryggr looked so relaxed, so at ease, and I wondered if anyone had ever seen him this way before or if the world had only ever seen the laughing, violent warrior in battle and the confident swagger of his negotiation.

“I must leave,” I whispered, not wanting it to be true.

His hand paused and he stared at me.

“I cannot let you go,” he said it simply; a fact.

“Hella will be scared if I am not in my own bed this morning and she will tell my father and the palace will be in an uproar, trust me —“ I started, sitting up and untangling myself from the blankets. “Every single one of my father’s men will kill you — at the same time — they will just drive their swords straight through you —“

“No, Stiorra,” his voice was strange and I turned back to look at him. “I must leave tomorrow. And I cannot let you go. I cannot leave without you.”

He sounded confident but looked almost scared as he said it, the weight of his words hanging in the air between us and I tried to remember to breathe. The warrior in him did not look away as he waited for my answer. The pinprick on the horizon of my dreams flashed in my mind. A star I’d been chasing. An answer to a question I had not yet asked. The silence stretched like a road I must walk but I wanted to run.

“Uhtred cannot know,” I responded firmly. “Not until the last moment.”

His face lit up, a slow grin to rival the best of them. “You will come with me?” His hand grasped my waist. He was still questioning, as if he dared not yet believe me, pulling me towards him. “Are you sure?”

I nodded, leaning back onto our shared bed, breathing him in as he propped himself up over me. Words escaped me at the heat of him, the way his arms encircled in around me, the sudden rightness of the world.

“Say it,” he begged, his leg slipping between my thighs as he kissed my neck, my fingers winding down his chest. “Say you are mine.”

I laughed, my nose brushing against his cheek. “I think, Lord Sigtryggr” I whispered. “You are mine.”

*

That evening the Lady Aethelflaed arrived and with her came the rains; dark clouds rolled in as the Mercian guard arrived in Winchester. I stood on the ramparts watching their long march through the empty fields that had been filled with Sigtryggr’s army just the night before. The Danes had left to ready their ships for the journey ahead and now men of Wessex buried the dead and burned the remnants of slaughtered animals in the dusty expanse outside the walls.

“Father says we will leave for Coccham by the end of the week,” my brother said, leaning forward onto the edge of the wall. His fingers grasped at the cross hanging around his neck as if careful of his next words. “But… I think I will return to the monastery.”

I looked at him and he was watching me carefully, wondering if I would rebuke or encourage him. I thought he was a fool — to chase after this life of prayer pressed upon us by Alfred — but I bit my tongue. What if this was the last conversation we had?

“You do not want to stay with Father?” I asked.

He hesitated before shaking his head. “I have been thinking. Of Father Beocca’s sacrifice. He died because of me and I want to honour that. I want to live my life for him.”

I was surprised. My brother was selfless in his motivation to leave. And I was saddened. We both wished to leave our father. I couldn’t help but gnaw at the thought. _Was I selfish?_

“I do not know if we should live our lives for others,” I said firmly.

_Yes. I was selfish._

“Then why else are we here if not to honour those who came before us?” He asked.

My mother’s face flashed in my mind. “We do honour them. We must. But we must also live knowing those who come after us will live to honour us — we must also do what is best for the children and ancestors we will someday have. They will act because of us.”

Young Uhtred shook his head but he was smiling. “Who have you become Stiorra?”

“I am living up to my mother’s prophesies,” I said defiantly, lifting my chin with a smile and he nodded. We had heard it many times. I was to be the mother of kings. And who was I if I did not fulfil my destiny?

“Oi!” A shout came from below and we saw Finan waving at us from the town square as the rain clouds moved towards us. “You’re late! Come in for the feast!”

We slipped through the crowds of men as we entered the hall, making our way to the dais. There were more warriors in Winchester tonight but the presence of Lady Aethelflaed brought a more subdued atmosphere to the hall, as laughter and conversation hovered at a quieter level.

The Lady of Mercia greeted me with a warm embrace before she sat back down next to my father who was at the head of the table. Sigtryggr sat in honour across from her and I slipped into my place next to him, neither of us looking at each other as his fingers brushed mine under the table.

Uhtred was telling Aethelflaed the story of his triumphant fight with Sigtryggr, who was laughing before he nodded towards me. “It was her fault.”

“Why?” The Lady asked skeptically. It was clear she did not like him and my father chuckled.

“She distracted me,” Sigrtryggr shrugged.

“Pity he was not distracted longer,” I said coldly, grabbing a piece of bread from a platter on the table.

Aethelflaed caught my eye and smiled at me. “You look well Stiorra. I can’t believe what a woman you’ve become!”

“I am well, thank you,” I smiled back at her, glancing at my father. “Some still think of us as children,” I said teasingly and Uhtred laughed.

He shrugged, “I want my children with me but they seem to have minds of their own.”

“I wonder who gave them that,” Aethelflaed replied knowingly.

Sigrtryggr raised his glass of wine and nodded to her, “This wine is delicious, Lady.”

She looked suddenly uncomfortable at his direct address but thanked him. “It was a gift from my brother.”

Sigrtryggr offered to pour me a glass but I refused, waving his hand away, feigning annoyance. “No, I can pour my own.”

I could feel my father’s eyes on me and I needed him more than anyone else to believe I did not care for Sigtryggr — he could not see the truth in my heart, not yet.

Uhtred and I shared the same passion, the same wanderlust that pulled us towards danger — I had known it since I was a child, listening to my mother’s stories, watching him return after weeks or months away from us. Perhaps he and I were cursed or perhaps we were blessed — to never settle, to never be satisfied with stillness. If there was anyone who would see through me, it was him.

So I kept my guard up and turned to fall into conversation with Osferth. I was aware my father and Aethelflaed had dropped their voices to speak to each other in confidence. I did not think anything of it until Uhtred said my name too loudly, bristling with surprise. I turned my head slightly, catching the Lady of Mercia hushing him before leaning closer.

My father caught my eye but did not smile at me before answering whatever question the Lady Aethelflaed asked him.

*

“Why were they speaking of me tonight?”

The question pounded out of my mouth as I shut the door quickly behind me. My heart was tight in my chest; something was not right.

Sigtryggr sat perched on the edge of his bed, naked from the waist up, as he removed his boots. My breath caught in my throat at the sight of him.

He glanced up at me, unsurprised by my sudden entrance. “Who?”

I huffed, annoyed at his feigned ignorance. “My father. Lady Aethelflaed. They were talking about me. I know you were listening.”

He bit his lower lip, nodding slowly. “Ahh. Yes. They were speaking of your marriage.”

“My marriage?” I asked in shock. Of course there had been talk for months now; I was more than of age even if my father pretended I could live with him forever in Coccham. But why tonight of all nights?

“The Lady of Mercia,” he drew out the syllables mockingly, “wishes for you to marry a Saxon Lord.”

“But— why now?! ” I sputtered, apparently only able to speak in questions.

Sigtryggr paused, holding his boot in his hand for a moment before placing it on the ground next to him.

“You are not surprised by her wishes.” He said it as a fact, not a question.

I hesitated and answered honestly. “No. I am not.”

He stared up at me, anger flashing in his eyes. “Are you just using me?”

“No!” I said too loudly. “It is — I — “ I stumbled for the words before taking a deep breath. “In truth I should have already been married but my father has been absent, he hasn’t had time to arrange it. And Aethelflaed — it must be because you have been defeated— she wishes to bind my father to her in the only way left — she wants me to marry a Saxon so Uhtred will not be tempted to join the Danes. So he will always fight for Wessex and Mercia.”

Sigtryggr looked surprised. “Would he join the Danes?”

I swallowed the words I wished to say and instead spoke the truth.

“I am not sure. But it would be difficult to fight against them if his grandchildren were Danes.”

Sigtryggr stared at me and it felt as if the silence stretched forever, like the horizon on a clear night, accompanied only by the pounding of my heart in my chest. My skin suddenly felt hot; I could feel a flush rising up my neck to my cheeks as the tension built between us but I did not walk back my boldness. His eyes roamed over me slowly, his chest rising and falling in the firelight, before he reached out a long arm and hooked his fingers through my belt to pull me towards him.

His fingers pulsed around my waist as he leaned his head against my stomach, breathing deeply as he unbuckled my belt, untied my dress, and undressed me so he could kiss the parts of my skin which already belonged to him.

“Stiorra,” he whispered against me as I climbed on top of his lap, straddling him.

“Yes?” I was breathless at the way our bodies fit together, the way his skin warmed against me, the strength of his hands moving across my arms and back.

“I will never betray you. We are one now.” His gaze was fierce and I recognised the promise he was making, the meaning under his words.

I nodded, cupping his jaw in my hands as I leaned into the sweet heat of his mouth, and echoed the promise back.

“We are one now.”


	4. Sigtryggr

I know I must have lived before I met her but those years stretch out behind me like a foggy path on a moonless night. Now there is only this, only her, only the bright blazing sunrise that awaits me each time I wake.

This morning she did not rush off at daybreak. I wondered if she was afraid our plan would not succeed, if she was savouring our time together because she feared it would be our last.

But this was not a woman who lived in fear and it was what I loved about her.

Stiorra pushed her back into me, tugging the furs up over her shoulders, as she sought warmth in the early morning light. My hand slipped over her stomach, pulling her closer to me, the heat of our nakedness pulsing as I pressed my lips against her neck and she sighed. I breathed her in. This would be our life now. I did not need to be selfish.

But I wanted to be selfish.

My fingers traced the soft curve of her waist to the sharp bones of her hips and I could feel her pulse in response to my touch. She sighed and I bit her shoulder softly, sucking on the skin as she began to rock her waist against me. She reached between us to touch me, our soft gasps intertwining in the stillness of morning. I ran my hand up from her thighs, across her skin to caress her breasts and she moaned. “My love,” I whispered into her ear and we moved together, our skin and sweat mixing, our limbs a tangled mess of want. Perhaps we were both selfish.

We laid there holding each other afterwards for far too long, delighting in the stillness of our own private paradise, before we had to dress in haste.

She finished buckling her belt in place and I laughed as she looked up at me.

“What?” She asked, skeptical of my joy as she stepped into her boots.

I smoothed her ruffled hair back behind her ears, smiling. “You look as if you’ve slept in a stable.”

She rolled her eyes, running her fingers through the tangles.

“I would sleep beside you anywhere. Even a stable,” she teased, turning to leave but I grabbed her hand and pulled her mouth back to mine.

“One more,” I whispered, my tongue tangling with hers, desperate to taste her before we faced the world.

“Not until the very last moment,” she whispered firmly after we broke apart, echoing the agreement we had made, the very crux of our plan. I nodded. We had secrets to keep and I did not want an enemy in her father — we just needed to leave on terms of our own making.

*

“Did ye sleep well?” Finan asked me, arms folded across his chest as he leaned against our shared table, and I almost choked on my drink.

Coughing, I nodded. “Yes. I slept well.”

He gave me a curious look and knocked me on the back. “Will yer men be ready for travel when we arrive?”

I smiled. “They will. It will be good to be back on a boat again and feel the waves beneath my feet.”

“Where will you go first?” Uhtred asked, sitting down across from us. “Wales?” The hall was half empty, men filtering through, as they readied for the day.

“North. To Danelaw. I’d like to see Eoforwic,” I said. Northumbria was Stiorra’s homeland. A chance to start somewhere, to see where the fates would take us.

“Not back to Ireland?” Uhtred’s voice was sharp and curious.

I shook my head. “Not yet. But eventually. My father will want to know what I have made of myself.”

“And what have you made of yourself?”

“Ah well I am the man whose eye was taken by The Dane Slayer himself,” I grinned, stretching my arms out for all to see, and he let out a big laugh.

“True. You do have that going for you,” he nodded and Finan pounded the table.

“Ye will have more tales to tell than that,” the Irishman urged.

“Too many to recount without a night of drinking my friend,” I laughed.

“If you’re buying, I will be there,” Finan quipped and I nodded. I liked these men and I hoped they would not hate me by today’s end.

“Your men will have Eardwulf and the Mercian traitors waiting for us?” Uhtred asked, steering the conversation like a skilled shipmaster.

“Yes Lord. As agreed.” I knew my men would honour the agreement; they would be glad to keep the silver we had taken from Eardwulf and be rid of the Saxon prisoners.

“Then we will ready the horses. We do not want to keep them waiting,” and he flashed me a smile as he strode off.

*

A contingent of both Wessex and Mercian soldiers accompanied Uhtred and his men, as well as the Lady Aethelflaed, as we travelled to my ships on the coast. Justice would be done and the Lady of Mercia would oversee it — she also wanted to ensure my men and I did actually sail away from Wessex as agreed. Young Uhtred, Stiorra and Aethelstan were allowed to join the journey as no battle was to be had. It wasn’t until we were outside of Winchester that Lord Uhtred questioned his daughter about her maid Hella riding with them.

“There isn’t any danger is there?” She asked innocently.

“No, there is not,” Uhtred said swiftly, before glancing at me and I nodded back to him, assuring him I would keep my promise.

“Hella wanted to see the coast — she’s never been — I thought it would be safe,” she smiled and her father conceded. He did not suspect her and what reason had she given him to? Stiorra had packed her saddlebags lightly to not draw attention and continued to ignore me as we rode towards the ocean.

There was a mist on the water but my fleet of ships were there, waiting like sea creatures rising from the sea, and my men tensed as we arrived. I raised my hand in greeting and a cheer went up.

As we dismounted, my man Svart brought my sword to me and I glanced at The Dane Slayer who gave a slight nod of his head before I took it and kissed the steel. I had felt naked without it and was grateful to have it back on my hip.

“Would you like me to kill the Saxons?” I asked Uhtred, gesturing to Eardwulf and his small band of men we held captive.

“No, I do my own work,” he replied and his men followed him towards the Mercians who were on their knees, waiting several yards away from us. I stole a glance at Stiorra who was standing next to her horse before turning to Svart and whispering brief instructions to him discreetly. All eyes were on the judgement taking place in the centre of the field and I said a prayer to Odin that he watched over me still.

I followed after Uhtred through the long wet grass to stand next to Sihtric as Eardwulf argued with the Dane Slayer and words were thrown. I surveyed my men and their ships, ready to depart as soon as the duties were over and I was grateful. The taste of salt on the air brought a pounding to my chest: we were almost free, almost a speck on the horizon, a memory to those who stayed.

After Uhtred’s men slid down into the shallow muddy ditch that Eardwulf’s men knelt in and delivered their fatal words and blows, I reached down and offered my arm to Uhtred of Bebbanburg. He grinned up at me, blood splattered across his face, and I understood the satisfaction he felt in ending the life of an enemy, the bloodline of a traitor. He was the warrior I wanted to be, and I knew killing him had only been one path to achieve his level of greatness, but it was no longer my path.

“I would not want you as my enemy, Lord Uhtred,” I said, pulling him up beside me.

He wiped the blood from his sword off on the edge of a cloth before throwing it back onto the dead below us.

“Then don’t come back, Jarl Sigtryggr.”

I laughed as we began walking, “I will be back. Because you will want me back.”

“I will?” He asked gruffly, looking at me skeptically and I turned my head to stare out at my ship; the greatest war ship I owned painted with a fierce dragon upon its prow. It was waiting for me, like a prophesy, calling my name back to sea.

Uhtred followed my gaze and there, standing like a goddess come to life next to my ship, in the muck of the river bank, was Stiorra.

Her hair whipped in the wind as she tossed a saddlebag over to Hella who was already aboard. Uhtred’s silence was deafening as we walked past the army of his men and the Lady Aethelflaed took notice of what we were staring at.

“Lord Uhtred?” She called out.

“My Lady?” His voice cracked but he kept walking, staring at Stiorra as if she were a light in a dark horizon.

“Your daughter?” The Lady of Mercia sounded concerned, but broke off her question, uncertain of what to ask.

“I will deal with my daughter,” he called back fiercely, his hand suddenly tight on my elbow as we walked in haste.

“Lord,” I said evenly, yanking my arm away as we kept in pace with each other through the wet grass towards the embankment.

“I thought she disliked you,” his voice was accusatory, brimming with confusion.

“We wanted you to think that,” I confirmed. My heart was pounding as Stiorra noticed us walking towards her together.

“You do not _know_ her,” he argued.

I glanced at him in surprise. “And you knew Gisela when you met her?”

“This is madness,” his voice was a dagger.

“And you’re famous for your good sense, Lord,” I smiled, I couldn’t help myself. I had nothing left to lose. I enjoyed his company these past days and I had hoped with desperation he might think of me as an equal or, at the very least, a suitable husband for his only daughter. I wanted his approval and my throat was tight at the admission, terrified I would not receive it.

We reached Stiorra at the water’s edge and she was fearsome to behold, the water lapping at her ankles. The mist and wind whipped around us, mixing with the smoke from the fires Finan had lit to burn the dead Mercian traitors. My men were boarding their ships — it was almost time.

Uhtred’s face was twisted in angst as he stared at his daughter. “You’re a fool.”

She breathed deeply, steeling herself, glancing at me as she spoke to him. “I saw,“ she breathed, ”and I was stricken.”

“And he was as well?” He did not look at me yet, we were both staring at her, mesmerised by her stoicism as she nodded.

“And the last two nights,” Uhtred’s voice was suddenly quiet and thick, “after the feasting was over?”

Her eyes roamed his face, hesitating only a second before she nodded; an answer to an unfinished question, and her father pulled her into his arms, wrapping her tight.

“You are your mother’s daughter,” he said softly and I glanced away, their moment suddenly too private to intrude on.

“But,” he continued quietly, “I choose who you marry,” and my stomach clenched as if someone had driven a hot spike through it.

“And Lord Aethelhelm wants to marry you.”

My fingers curled into fists as I imagined clawing out this unknown man’s eyeballs but my fantasy was interrupted by Stiorra’s quiet laughter as she scoffed “Lord _Aethelhelm_?!”

“You’ll be the richest widow in all of Britain,” Uthred said, his voice heavy as if he were pushing a boulder uphill.

“Father,” she said, her fingers grasping his shoulders, a grin taking over her face, “I promise I will accept the man you choose to be my husband.”

I was not breathing as The Dane Slyer kissed his daughter’s forehead. Time slowed and there was only the lapping of waves and my heart, pounding like a horse in battle.

“You will be a peace offering,” Uhtred said slowly before glancing over at me, “between myself and the Danes.”

And I did not hear anything else he said. I could have been struck by Thor’s lightning and not felt it.

Stiorra was mine. I was hers. He would not refuse us.

Uhtred turned and stepped close to me after embracing Stiorra again. “I give her to you,” he said fiercely. “So don’t disappoint me.”

I nodded, grasping his forearm in agreement, before he turned to walk back up the embankment, back to his men, back to Wessex, back to the Lady Aethelflaed who would not be pleased.

We were alone suddenly; there was no obstacle in front of us and Stiorra looked at me, a knowing smile on her lips.

A shout went up from the ship and I took her hand to lead her aboard. The men were busy readying their oars as I led her along the walkway to the prow, keeping her in my grasp as we stood next to the head of the dragon. We could see Lord Uhtred standing next to his steed, watching us from the hillside, the army turning to head back to Winchester behind him.

“Are you alright?” I asked her quietly as her father raised his arm in farewell. A gesture of love for her; perhaps a reminder for me to bring her back someday. Stiorra nodded, brushing a rogue tear from her cheek. She did not wave back to Uthred but watched him hungrily as the ship began to pull away from shore.

“We are one now,” she said quietly, her bright eyes suddenly turning towards me, examining my face.

I smiled as the wind blew through us, the gods beckoning us to explore the unknown. Our destinies were now intertwined, stretching out towards the horizon. I tightened my grip on her hand and she responded with strength, squeezing my fingers with her own.

“Yes,” I agreed. “We are one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was fun to use some existing text (dialogue and events from the Empty Throne seen in Chapters 1 and 4 here) and create a world inside of a world. I really loved writing both of these characters and might write another stand alone story for them as a sequel to this one. Thanks for reading - let me know what you think in the comments below.


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